


A Royal Visit

by theseamofthesky



Category: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3889303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseamofthesky/pseuds/theseamofthesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death visits his former servant in his cell</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Royal Visit

Death came to his servant again that night.

The cell was cold and quiet. The narrow bench was no more uncomfortable than usual, but sleep refused to grant him rest. He shivered and tugged his jacket closer.

There was no point in trying any further for comfort. There were often nights like these, nights when the darkness seemed to extend beyond the borders of his cell, stretching outwards into eternity. It sometime seemed as though that through that darkness was escape.

The chill persisted. If the guards were making their rounds, their footsteps did not intrude upon this silence.

A long moment passed.

In the solitude of his cell, he knew with full and absolute certainty that he was being watched.

No footsteps announced his presence but somehow, even in the darkness, a shadow fell upon the prisoner on the bed.

He visited him still, from time to time, his old taskmaster. When the shadows stretched out the furthest, he would come and he would stand and he would watch.

“You…” he groaned. The word fell almost carelessly from his lips. With painstaking effort, he raised himself on his elbows. “You’re here again.”

He instantly knew and regretted his mistake when a long-fingered hand forced him backwards by the neck.

The shove forced the air from his lungs, which in turn forced him to lie there, quite still, until some quarter was given. The iron grip refused to remove itself from his throat. He swallowed, feeling the skin over his Adam’s apple brush softly against his captor’s palm.

The dwindling air restored his respect.

“I’m sorry…your Majesty.”

His voice was breathy and strained, but the apology sufficed, for the hand slowly withdrew. Above him, even in this unnatural darkness, a thin-lipped smile could be seen on Death’s face.

He crooked a finger and the prisoner obeyed, struggling to his feet.

He often wondered if Death was growing paler. Certainly now, standing before him in a coat so dark as to reflect not even the smallest hint of starlight, his face was almost luminous.

He wondered if he was happier now, now that he had his Elisabeth. He wondered if one day he might actually ask.

One thing was for certain though; that smile never changed.

He could appreciate it so very well from this distance. His Majesty never normally disturbed him. Well, no more than the discomfort inherent to seeing the personification of Death itself in your cell.

Now though, Death had decided to play a far more active part.

He took Lucheni by the shoulders, fingers spreading out across his back in a thorough assessment.

He forced himself to remain still in this hold. He would have called it an embrace, had he not been there to witness how Death had taken his Elisabeth to him as her blood spilled forth. This was something else. This was an evaluation, a customer making sure that his purchase would not disappoint.

Was his master angry with him? Could he be angry with him, knowing that his faithful servant had brought his beloved into his arms? Maybe his kiss would be a reward, not a punishment at all, a glorious escape from this dark, narrow room.

Courage suddenly rushed through him, a dam broken. He surged forwards in his captor’s arms, aiming for those smirking lips. He closed his eyes in anticipation of the release that would follow, that  _must_  finally follow.

“I don’t think so,” said the shadow, in a voice that was almost a chuckle, “You don’t want that yet.”

A hand wrenched his head back. He was certain that some of the fine hairs at his neck must have been torn free. The position pulled his back up uncomfortably straight and he danced upon his toes, completely reliant on Death’s grip to remain standing.

“Your Majesty, I think it’s time!” His arms, previously dangling uselessly by his sides, were now raised, his fingers entangling themselves desperately in Death’s dark coat. He clung to him like a drowning man to a lifeboat.

“Time for you to go, Luigi Lucheni? Time for me to take you?” His voice was, as always, cool and studied and yet…and yet there was something,  _something_  behind that front, something that hinted at longing, at passion, at hunger.

He leaned in, so close that there was no part of the prisoner’s body that wasn’t in contact with that implacable cold.

A hand caressed his cheek, teasing gently through the hair at his temples. Lucheni longed suddenly for violence, to be thrown to the floor, to be rejected at the cost of any pain. That would be preferable to balancing so precariously on this line of denial.

“You were in such a hurry for her, weren’t you? Maybe it would be quicker if I did something pretty with my hair, heh?”

His reward was a knee to to the stomach, sending him flying to the floor. Once free, he took a breath, highly conscious of how the air flowed so smoothly down his throat.

The man was implacable. Even in these shadows, those damned blue eyes looked clearly on. Goading was futile. How do you rush a man who has all the time in the world?

He propped himself up on his knees before his commander.

“Please, your Majesty.”

He waited, alone in the darkness. Only his soft breathing could be heard.

There was a swish of silk as the dark figure pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. A promise.

The veil of his silken coat passed over his shoulder as Death took his leave, the fabric caressing his shoulder.

In the morning, the dawn light radiating through the barred window felt just a little further out of reach.


End file.
